


Vertigo

by gothamknights (orphan_account)



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: AU, M/M, also happy rafe au, because happy rafe is good, domestic because i'm ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gothamknights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Avery's treasure, Sam finds working with Rafe is better than settling down. Especially when they're more than just business partners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vertigo

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Rafe AU where he gets mental help and doesn't snap. Listen to me. Let me have this @ Naughty Dog.

Days ran on lazily when you spend them holed up in a horror hotel, crumpled pamphlets and take-out boxes strewn across the carpet. Sam spent his usual time in the heat chain smoking in front of the ancient television set while Rafe ran line to line on mythical connections. It was a hot day. Particularly hot for the Midwest, somewhere neither of them thought they'd end up on a treasure hunt. 

The property manager of the motel was kind. A sweet old lady with gospels in the reception and a rickety old cat that laid across her lap like a gothic, old gargoyle. She'd given them their rates with a smile, almost asking what they were up to until Rafe dug his eyes into her skin and her words began to lack the elderly confidence she used to have. Sam hands Rafe the packet of information as they step outside into the heat, 

"Do you have to do that every time?"  
"What?"  
"That."  
"What are you saying?"  
"The whole spooky rich boy bit. Jesus, you scared the holy outta that woman." 

Rafe doesn't respond, he just grunts with a repose, and tucks the packet into his back pocket before running his thumb along the sweat beads dotting his forehead. Avery’s treasure had done good for the two of them, not to mention the Drake-Fishers, and whatever scam Sully was running nowadays. Sam was given the choice to stay with Nate. He was given the choice for something good and normal, but he’s running after ghosts with Rafe yet again. Samuel Drake did not reform after prison, it seems.

It’s been two weeks since they arrived in No Name, Kansas searching for connections that didn’t exist. It’s been two weeks since Rafe has even tried to do anything except pour over a book of writings and diaries of mad men. Sam’s tried to coax him out. Maybe a trip around dilapidated farms and --- there wasn’t much to do in Kansas. He knew it. There was just that pang in his heart when he saw the obsession in Rafe creep up again. It’s the obsession that almost killed them both, tumbling down into a strange web of murder and betrayal. Sam, admittedly, was surprised that Rafe had even considered Sam’s offer for therapy. It was a more conventional way of dealing with things instead of getting slapped on your ass by nuns with a bad retirement plan. Coaxing and promises and staying when things were bad had lead up to this moment. The moment of smoking and watching the news, and writing until your fingers almost bleed. 

Sam took another drag off his cigarette, sighing and wiping the sweat off his brow before stabbing the butt into a two dollar ashtray beside the phone on the night stand. His gaze turned to Rafe’s back -- who now had had enough of the heat, as he sat in his boxers and undershirt -- and he sighs. 

“Rafe, c’mon. We’re not going to find anything. It’s been two weeks and nada.”  
“That’s because you’re not looking. You’re watching a Bob Ross marathon for eight hours.”  
“Excuse me, it was a Public Service Telethon, and it was six hours long.”  
“Semantics.”

Sam grins, mostly to himself though he hopes Rafe can feel it burn over the heat of the summer, and makes his way to his partner in stride. He leans with one hand on the back of the chair and one against the impromptu desk as he leans his chest in towards Rafe’s head. He smells like cigarettes and cola, a combination Rafe reluctantly craves. It was a little distraction from the swimming in his head, but Rafe soon turns to the notes again. 

“It’s literally gibberish.” Sam points to a scribble, indiscernible from user error or original writing.  
“No, it isn’t.” Rafe defends.  
“What does that even mean?”  
“It’s Gaelic.”  
“An Irishman came all the way to Kansas?”  
“That’s what it says, doesn’t it?”  
“Wait… I think I see something…” Sam points to another illustration in the journal, watching Rafe as he moves his eyes to study what Sam had revealed. In a quick swipe, the journal was gone and hidden behind his back, “My bad, it just says that Rafe Adler should stop chasing ghost stories and get out of this hovel of a motel. They even illustrated you, looking grumpy! The likeliness is uncanny.”  
Whatever laugh he was expecting, he wasn’t getting it. Rafe looks on with the same dark daggers that sliced through the wrinkled receptionist and her stone feline. Sam chuckles, albeit awkwardly with a hint of regret, and he tucks the journal in the band of his pants.

“Rafe… Do you know how long it’s been since…”  
“We’ve been working.”  
“Then stop working for five goddamn minutes, please. I miss you.”

Rafe sighs, looking back at the blank, almost dustless space left on the counter. He brings a hand to collect the stray pieces of hair falling in front of his face. It had been awhile since they’ve been together. Together, together. He missed it, to say the least. The stress washing away with the stinging of Sam’s lips against his skin. It was a heat Rafe enjoyed. A fire he’d been igniting without extinguishing, and the flames are climbing higher without their touches. Part of him chalked it up to not letting the soft tempered woman in front know that Rafe touched Sam in more ways than handing him his credit card. I miss you. Rafe sighs again as he turns to look up at Sam with a less threatening glare.

“Fine. Five minutes.”  
“Five minutes is all I need.” Sam chuckles, grasping Rafe’s chin with his forefinger and thumb, bringing Rafe into him for a soft and longing kiss. This. This is what he wanted. He doesn’t care about treasure or riches, because what he really wants was the most elusive find of all - and it was finding Rafe in this rare moment of vulnerability. The kiss breaks. Rafe’s eyes settle on Sam’s as he lifts himself from the coffin of his chair to stand shorter in front of him. His hands wrap around Sam’s middle, fingers curling the stained yellow fabric with expectation and hesitation, his lips begging for the next move so he doesn’t have to make it. Sam knows. He knows all too well. The only lover that ever understood Rafe inside and out, literally and not, and he knew every desire that needles him. He presses in for a kiss again. It’s sweet and explosive. Gentle and powerful. Sam gives him every bit of him that he can in the moment and Rafe receives it with sophisticated eagerness. 

The kiss breaks again when Rafe speaks, “We’re going to need more than five minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might do a smut chapter if y'all are interested, I just haven't written in 283977283 years and I wanted to kind of ease myself back into it lmao.


End file.
